


Still Dalish

by Ivy_Adair



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conversations, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Dalish, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Existential Crisis, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, General Female Lavellan, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Adair/pseuds/Ivy_Adair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Lavellan's decision to have Solas remove her vallaslin and Sera's unkind words, she finds comfort in the friendship she shares with the only other Dalish elf in Skyhold: the aptly named 'Dalish' of the Bull's Chargers. Written for a Kink-Meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Dalish

**Author's Note:**

> From the K-Meme Prompt:  
> "So after Solas erased Lavellan's vallaslin and dumped her, Sera asked her about it and then proceeded to laugh about how stupid all those Dalish face business were...I just want a fic where someone saw Lavellan's bare face, probably heard what Sera said to her, and hugs the shit out of the Inquisitor or something. Anything and anyone would do, really."  
> Read the prompt in its entirety: [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=51713141#t51713141).
> 
>  
> 
> _This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present._  
> 

_“All those faces, that’s just funny.”_  
  
Dalish looked up from her mug of the Rest’s finest as the Inquisitor stormed down the wooden steps and out the door. The noise in the tavern had all but disappeared as the sounds of Sera and the Inquisitor’s raised voices drifted down through the wooden floorboards. Though the quietest the tavern ever got was still deafeningly loud, raised voices still drew attention. _The Inquisitor’s_ raised voice, however, was as noticeable as a naked Qunari running through a chantry. The young elf almost never yelled. Even when delivering her judgments from her throne, she spoke softly. To hear her yell was surprising enough, but to see her walk into the Herald’s Rest in the first place with her newly bare face…. Well, it was all any of them were whispering about until the yelling began. Now that she had stormed off, the soft murmurs grew into fully blown conversation and loudly cried theories as to what exactly happened to the tattoos stretching across her face. Dalish looked around the tavern carefully. Though there were other elves, she was the only Dalish and she alone had caught the significance of the words: ‘ _slave markings’._  
  
She’d left her clan long ago, or rather; she’d been forced to leave her clan long ago. Yet, the clan had never really left her. She’d adapted to the ways of the Shem and could see the ways her people were both hypocritical and self-righteous at times. But, they were _her_ people and she knew that at the same time they could be caring and supportive. She remembered her keeper, her hahren, telling her the forgotten stories of Arlathan and their people. The tales of Shartan and how he’d rode next to Andraste and freed their people. She’d always loved that story and that was why she found herself especially drawn to the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. It felt good to her that the Herald was a Dalish elf, almost as if the stories if the past had melded together into a tale in front of her eyes; Shartan and Andraste in one tiny, magical package. The Herald had been the first to Clan Lavellan, a significant title not lost on Dalish like it had been on every other member of the Inquisition. She understood the significance of such things, the heavy weight of responsibility that came with being the one who had to carry on the scant treasures of an entire race, for she’d once been known as the First of Clan Alerion. Her vallaslin, dedicated to Dirthamen spoke as much. As the future keeper, she was to keep the secrets of the elves alive. The idea that something as integral to their way of life as vallaslin being something twisted, a symbol that one of the only known elven heroes had fought against made her chest clench unpleasantly. Her gaze slid to Skinner. The woman dipped her head slightly, acknowledging the fact that something had gone on, but unable to truly comprehend the magnitude. Dalish exhaled, pursing her lips through the breath before she drained her mug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rose to her feet and expertly tiptoed around Stitches and Grim, who sat on the floor already deep into their cups. She made her way outside and tried not to audibly moan with pleasure as the discordant din of the tavern became muffled as the door slammed shut. She looked around and finally spotted a small figure sitting on top of the battlements.  
  
She climbed the stairs swiftly; ignoring the odd looks directed at her by the soldiers. Whether it was because of the point of her ears, the marks on her face or simply the fact that one of the Chargers was almost never seen outside of the tavern, she cared not. With the precision that only one of her blood could possess, she hopped onto the edge of the great stone wall and made her way past the point where the walkway ended. She spied Lavellan sitting with her feet dangling over the edge, bare face turned up towards the sun. Dalish said nothing as she perched herself next to the Inquisitor. Instead, the small woman mirrored the Herald’s actions and turned her face upwards as well. The warmth of the sun bathed across her skin, sending little slivers of pleasure through her body. It reminded her of being a child in the aravels and for a moment she was certain she could hear the monotonous creak of the ancient wheels as they turned.  
  
“You heard?” Lavellan asked at last.  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“I still have trouble believing it. But, he wouldn’t lie to me. It must be true.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Dalish said thoughtfully.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Dalish saw the Inquisitor lower her head. She stared at her knees and in that moment, the tiny woman looked no bigger than a child. Dalish hadn’t been the sort to comfort in the past. She’d never been one for affection and the years spent, as a mercenary had certainly not cultivated the talent. Yet, she felt an odd sort of kinship with the Herald. Perhaps it was because they were both the only dalish elves in the Inquisition. They’d both endured the vallaslin, the fear of shemlen hunting them, the anger at their culture being wiped off of the surface of Thedas and the indignation of being at odds with their city-dwelling cousins. Yet, it felt deeper. Or, perhaps it was even because the Inquisitor could finally put the Dalish elves in the Shem’s good graces or maybe because the Herald didn’t hide her magic behind jokes about old elven aiming tricks. It could even be that Dalish was like the other Shems in the Inquisition and she just _believed_ in this woman.    
  
“Slave markings,” the Inquisitor remarked bitterly. “I spent so many years of my life thinking about my vallaslin. I longed for the day that Keeper Istimaethoriel would tell me that I was ready. It took me hours and hours of meditating before I picked Sylaise. Now to think that….” The groaned and trailed off as she buried her face in her hands.  
  
“There are probably worse Gods to be slaves to than Sylaise,” Dalish quipped.  
  
The attempt at humor fell flat as the Herald just groaned again. “Should I tell them?”  
  
“Tell who?”  
  
“The people! _Our_ people; wouldn’t they want to know that they’ve been mistaken about…so many things?”  
  
Dalish heaved a sigh as she rubbed the back of her neck. “You think that the Dalish would be willing to listen? Have you been living amongst the shemlen for so long that you’ve forgotten what the Dalish are _like_?”  
  
Lavellan snorted in spite of herself and immediately clasped her hand over her mouth as her cheeks reddened. After a moment, she let the hand slip and Dalish could see the beginnings of a small smile. “They’d probably call me a flat-ear, especially without the vallaslin.”  
  
The Inquisitor paused thoughtfully, staring down at her knees as if they were the most interesting things she’d ever seen.  
  
“When he told me, all I could think about was Shartan. We made an oath to ourselves to never be slaves again and everything happened so fast,” her voice quavered. “I already feel like I’m shackled to this life. With this mark on my hand, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave this place and it scares me. I don’t want to be a slave, to anything. I don’t think the rest of the Dalish would either.”  
  
“I think the clans have a collective stick up their backsides when it comes to their traditions,” Dalish drawled blithely.  
  
Lavellan giggled and elbowed the other elf in the side gently. Dalish continued, “You think about it, we’ve had scraps of history to hold on to. We don’t even have a complete language to speak. The vallaslin ritual is our rite of passage, it shows our clan that we’re mature and it shows the world that we’re proud of our heritage. It’d be the same as the Shem finding out that Andraste was actually a magister.”  
  
The two women immediately burst into snickers at the thought. Lavallen wiped her eyes with her fingers as she clutched her side in pain.  
  
“Imagine the hysteria,” Lavellan said between gasps.  
  
“Aye and you know whoever suggested it would be declared a heretic to the faith,” Dalish said pointedly.  
  
In turn, Lavellan sighed and nodded her concession. As quickly as the smile had graced her features, it faded again. The woman looked away, her eyes glassy. She wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders stiffened to the point that her bones stuck out of the beige material covering her. Dalish nodded mutely, knowing that it was time for her to listen and not speak. The Inquisitor didn’t need a lecture about history, or the dismissal of someone who couldn’t grasp the significance of the revelation.  
  
“Am I still Dalish?” she murmured.  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“I….”  
  
Dalish scoffed, shaking her head. “Lethallan, there’s more to being a Dalish than vallaslin. D’you remember the stories? The tale of Shartan and the fall of the Dales?”  
  
The Inquisitor looked at her and pinched her lips together before nodding.  
  
“These are all just _things_ , lethallan; remnants that the Keepers must remember. But, what makes an elf Dalish is the strength of their heart. D’you still follow the vir tanadhal?”  
  
Lavellan swallowed, “vir assan, vir bor’assan, vir adahlen.”  
  
“Fly straight and never waver, bend but never break and together we are stronger than the one. That is what makes an elf Dalish. So you tell me, are you still a Dalish?”  
  
The Inquisitor sat up straighter, her chin rising defiantly as the sadness drifted away from her features. She nodded once, resolutely. The right corner of Dalish’s mouth quirked upwards as she returned the nod. Without saying anything, the two women rose to their feet. Leaning in quickly, Dalish wrapped her arms around the Inquisitor’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “No matter what happens, Inquisitor, I’m honored to know you.”  
  
Dalish turned to walk away before the Herald caught her wrist. She turned over her shoulder with her eyebrow raised.  
  
“Would you have done it?” Lavellan asked. “I mean, let him remove your vallaslin?”  
  
The elf looked out to the horizon, mulling it over in her brain. “No,” she answered at last. She turned back to look the other elf in the eye. “I cannot go home to my clan, ever again. I have no trinkets or baubles to remember them by, all I have are these marks and even if they meant something bad all the way back then, and they’re all I have of my family. So, that’s what they mean to me. You can go back, Inquisitor and be with them again. I’d rather be marked a slave than lose the last connection I have. If I had my family again, perhaps I would.”  
  
“I understand,” she said as she nodded slowly. “Thank you, Dalish. You have lifted a great weight from my shoulders.”  
  
 Dalish grinned and winked at Lavellan. She turned and swiftly glided along the edge of the wall and back down to the battlement. She didn’t both to look behind her to see if the Inquisitor was there or not. Instead, she quietly made her way back to the Herald’s Rest and ordered another mug before taking her rightful place amongst her new clan. Though they included a Qunari, an elf her people called a ‘flat-ear’ a dwarf and copious amounts of humans, they were still her clan. She’d remember each one of them until her final breath because that was her job, even if she couldn’t be Keeper of Clan Alerion, Dalish could be Keeper of Clan Bull’s Chargers. A smirk found its way on to her lips as she imagined dragging them along to Arlathvhen. Someone elbowed her and pointed towards the window in front of them. She watched through the dimpled glass as a lithe figure made its way across the courtyard. The intermittent spark of glowing green on the palm gave the identity of the person away immediately. The Inquisitor had her head held up high, her spine straight and her gait was confident as she walked across the walkway between the library and the Commander’s office. Dalish felt a little curl of pride in her stomach to see that Lavellan had taken her advice to heart. After all, it was a Keeper’s job not only to remember, but also to guide those in need along their rightful paths. So perhaps she really was a Keeper, after all.  


**Author's Note:**

> Super light fill while taking a break from writing both my DABB entry and Freedom's Song, the latter of which is supremely daunting.
> 
> I really love Dalish. I wish we could hang out with her, I feel like she'd be a pretty cool friend to have. Also, fun fact: Dalish is apparently _such_ an obscure character that she's not even listed on the FF.net character listing despite them having pretty much every other person who is even mentioned in passing in this series, ever. There are people on that listing that have even less screen time than she does. Would just like to call shenanigans on that. 
> 
> Translations:  
> vir assan - _vir_ , path or way. _Assan_ arrow. The way of the arrow.  
>  vir bor’assan - _bor_ to throw or project. Literally **path throw arrow** throw arrow, meaning a bow. So way of the bow.  
>  vir adahlen - _adahlen_ , many trees or forest. _adahl_ means a single tree. The way of the forest.  
>  vir tanadahl - _tan_ three. The way of the three trees, this is the belief that the dalish follow passed down by Andruil, the Goddess of the Hunt. It's her personal code. 
> 
> This piece is also posted at [FF.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11096452/1/Still-Dalish), my [tumblr](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com) account and on the original prompt [thread](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=51713141#t51713141).
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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